


The Last Time, I Swear

by GeneralRADIX



Category: Marathon (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7447504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneralRADIX/pseuds/GeneralRADIX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This can't quite make up for everything Volker von Muller did or said to Vincent, but it's a start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Time, I Swear

This week wasn't going very well.

The BoBs had tried to be helpful, but really—breaking Vince out of that hellhole of a prison by dumping him in the middle of F'lickta territory, with armour too shredded and useless to protect him from a tick? And asking him to help begin reactivating Thoth when every pain receptor in his body lit up if he so much as blinked wrong? They were _surprised_ when he collapsed in the second core chamber.

Next thing he knew, he was vomiting water while Thom and Sakamoto supported him. He hadn't thought to ask where they came from, or how long they'd been down here, or what they'd been doing while Vince desperately tried to keep the packs of F'lickta from tearing him limb from limb. Too busy lamenting that he didn't drown.

The second they'd teleported back to base, Vince blacked out again. He came to the next day in a cramped storage room, flat on his back and half his body covered in bandages. It still hurt to even turn his head, but his assistance was required in flushing out the simulacrums that the base was now crawling with. Which meant shooting at bombs that looked like people, with no armour to prevent the shrapnel from burying itself somewhere vital.

He'd returned to the terminal where Robert Blake had issued his orders, and Blake told him outright that he and most of the BoBs were glad that Durandal was dead.

Durandal, who had helped save Vince's life back on the _Marathon_. Who had confided in him all manner of physical and emotional vulnerabilities that no other living being would witness, who had worked to minimize casualties despite what the BoBs insisted. Who had pleaded with Vince to destroy his core and put him out of his misery, spared from Leela's fate.

Blake mentioned something about turning on the rest of Thoth's personality cells. Vince had a hard time caring.

Eventually, after more fighting and running than Vince should have engaged in, he found himself standing before the capsule that held the old ibis, watching the lights hum on and the seals pop off one by one. The hatch slid open and Thoth immediately did a fifty-foot vertical leap out of the capsule and scared the shit out of Vince.

Thoth insisted upon being obtuse, but Vince at least found him easier to work with than the BoBs. And he'd been quite helpful in clearing the new base of those exploding bastards and their makers; he didn't need leg shots to sort them out.

It was around midnight now; everyone, Thoth included, was trying to get some rest, leaving Vince alone in what he assumed was once part of a geothermal station. His ears had stopped ringing from the constant explosions, leaving him with near-total silence; his hands were still trembling slightly—not necessarily from the concern that he'd missed a simulacrum or two, but from his overworked muscles. Thoth had perched too far up for Vince to reach; he could still see the android's white armour gleaming near the dark corners of the vaulted ceiling, at least.

It wasn't like him to try to stave off sleep, but the less time spent reliving his only real friend's death, the better. Maybe he'd get lucky and would only dream about more of that violent struggle against...whoever that woman was supposed to be.

Vince stood up, wincing over all the aches and pains that shot through both legs as he did so, and began trudging towards the armory. Everyone had already gathered up whatever dropped Pfhor weapons were still intact; all Vince could do was deposit his shock staff.

–

He'd expected the armory to be empty of people at this hour; as luck would have it, he'd walked inside to find the absolute last person he wanted to see.

Volker von Muller, former member of some lower branch of the _Marathon_ 's security force, leaned against the wall that faced the entrance, allowing him to spot Vince as soon as he walked in. Vince hesitated for a moment, then walked on ahead to the nearest cache of ammo; maybe, if he dropped off the staff and turned around as quickly as possible--

“Hey, Callahan.”

 _Goddammit_. He stopped halfway across and resisted the urge to scowl.

The first thing he noticed, now that his full attention was on that callous jackass, was that Volker's usual agitated contempt was missing from both his expression and his voice; there were no tensing muscles or other slip-ups to suggest that his neutral face was forced, either. And here Vince thought that Volker would be glaring daggers at him the whole campaign...not that it changed anything.

It was tempting to just leave after he tossed down the staff, but this could be one of his only chances to have a normal conversation with Volker. Might as well get this over with.

“What do you want?”

“I was thinking,” Volker began.

Vince decided to keep all questions about how much effort that required to himself.

“Ever since we rescued you, you've been—well—not yourself.”

This time, he had to cut in. “And what's your frame of reference?” Vince asked. “We got together twice and then you told me to piss off. You don't know me.”

Volker flinched—actually _flinched_ , something that had never happened the last few times he and Vince argued. “I—sometimes, I'd catch you talking with Durandal about—whatever it was you guys discussed,” he explained. “You seemed more—I dunno—lively, then? And you were willing to hang out with the rest of us, too.”

So he'd paid attention, at least. “Why are you so concerned?”

As much as Vince would rather he stay put, Volker stepped away from the wall and walked towards him. “I'd had this feeling before, in the back of my head, but you really dragged it to the forefront—none of us are leaving this planet the same person we arrived as. Not even me, I guess.”

He was close enough now that Vince could see the weariness in his face, not all of it from lack of sleep.

“You know, a month ago, I had no intention of reflecting on our falling-out,” Volker continued. “It was over and done, and you didn't want to be around me anyway. But the other night, that was what I ended up doing, and--” He sighed, and looked away. “I'd completely mishandled everything. Didn't make it clear what I wanted, jumped to conclusions about your feelings.”

Vince blinked. “Is this an apology?”

“Yeah. Don't know if you'll accept it, but—I wanted to tell you this now, while we're both alive.”

...Did Vince accept it? That day—hell, that whole week—had been absolutely miserable, between getting rejected in the first place and his own constant wavering over whether or not it had been some action or personality trait of his that had prompted it. This felt sincere, but…

He shrugged. “I guess. Maybe. Though we're not getting together for real, you know.”

“I didn't expect to.” 

Volker went quiet after that; unsure of what else to add, Vince fell silent as well, and his thoughts turned elsewhere. 

Thoth seemed to know what he was doing; perhaps he'd already worked out a way to call the eleventh clan. With their assistance, the Pfhor might finally be driven away from Lh'owon, fleet decimated and remaining slaves freed. And then Blake's crew could return to Sol Core and hopefully resume their normal lives…

Could Vince, though? He'd realized, only a few short weeks into his service on the _Marathon_ , just how intensely he despised Mars as it existed three hundred years or so before that day, and how much better the ship life accommodated him. Blake was dead-set on going back to Earth, a planet he was fairly certain he'd never lived on or even visited; was it anything like that cesspit Vince had been forced a call a home? 

Maybe he'd just stay on Lh'owon. Or go wherever Thoth planned to depart to, if that wasn't an option.

“There's something else.”

“What?” Vince jerked his head back up to look at Volker.

Something about Volker's facial topography had shifted just a bit. “I—don't want my last potential memory of you to be when I blew you off,” he muttered. “Would that be how you wanted to remember me?”

Where was this going? “Not particularly. But we just--”

Vince felt a hand on his shoulder, and the rest of that sentence sputtered out. 

“Do you—want to have one last go?” Volker asked. “Right here.”

... _oh_.

It seemed like ages before any sort of coherent response could form in Vince's head. “Is that the real reason why you apologized?” he asked, and immediately winced over how accusatory it came out and diverted his gaze to the floor.

Volker didn't answer right away. “No, but--” He sighed, more harshly this time. “It was part of it. That is, I thought back to those last few times we met, and how little I appreciated you then. This—seemed like a good way to make up. And you seem like you need to take your mind off things,” Volker added, briefly squeezing Vince's shoulder.

“Not having protection would take my mind off a lot of things, I imagine,” Vince muttered before he could stop himself and realize how rude it sounded—and in response, Volker laughed.

“You think you're in any shape for what we did last time?” Volker asked, and finally Vince looked back up at his scarred face, at that calm and collected air that had drawn Vince to him to begin with.

“Are you saying--?”

“You'll see.” He felt Volker's other hand cup the back of his neck. “If you want to.”

' _While we're both alive_.' Vince had tried the whole campaign not to think about it—they'd all managed fairly well so far, human and S'pht alike, and even now, most of them were still around. But those who fell had fallen abruptly, with so little effort on part of the Pfhor—it only took a single bullet or plasma round. Standing in the wrong place, attention focused where it shouldn't be. This really could be the last time he saw Volker, whether it was his corpse their teammates were burying, or Vince's.

And...try as he might to shove those thoughts down, keep them off of his priorities list like he had the rest of the campaign—just considering that offer, with both of Volker's hands on him, was making his body ache the same way it had the first time this had happened, back when the worst he had to worry about was unruly civilians.

The silence felt too heavy for Vince to break properly, so he just took hold of Volker's upper arms, inhaled deeply, and leaned forward.

He opened his mouth when he felt Volker do so, let him move his tongue inside. Felt a jolt run down his spine the instant they made contact. He pushed a little further in and slid his arms under Volker's to try and close the gap; in turn, Volker took Vince's jacket zipper and slowly pulled it open, so that he could reach in and gently trail his hand across Vince's chest and down his side, lingering over spots that weren't bandaged up. He found a particularly sensitive area directly above Vince's hip, and Vince involuntarily breathed in a little more sharply.

They drew away, leaving a quietness that hung in the air just long enough for Vince to wonder what Volker was waiting for. As he opened one eye to check, he felt a hand grasping between his legs, sending a shudder through his body.

“Already?”

Volker had his face lightly pressed against the side of Vince's throat. “Maybe I should be asking that,” he said, shifting his hand up and down to hammer the point in.

Funny, the armory didn't feel quite so sweltering just a moment ago… “Well, if you keep rubbing it, of course it's g-going to— _nngh_!” Vince's grip around Volker's torso abruptly tightened. _That_ was how little it took?

“Heh.” Pause. “This alright with you?”

Vince nodded, drew in a shivering breath as inconspicuously as he could, and told him, “You'd better make this last.”

For every minute that Volker worked at it, Vince felt the heat inside him climb higher and higher, drawing out beads of sweat. He fumbled to transfer his leather gloves from his hands to his jacket pocket then, after a moment's hesitation, stripped off his jacket and undershirt and tossed both aside; they'd just make him overheat. Volker slid around behind him right as he hurriedly unzipped his jeans; he found himself being pulled into a sitting position on Volker's thighs.

Vince leaned against his chest, head angled so that he wouldn't accidentally smash the back of it into Volker's face, and then his gut pulled tight; Volker started off slow, only using two fingers at first, and gradually ramped up the speed and intensity—stopping just as Vince neared the edge, giving him enough time to catch his breath, before starting over and building it all up again, drawing him so close just to pull him away, over and over until Vince's back arched with enough intensity to knock Volker off-balance. Those lightly-traced circles segued unexpectedly into a more forceful stroke, and the gasp it produced from Vince—Christ, was he grateful that the barracks were so far away.

“Th-that's it,” he panted. His head was floating, heart pounding in his ears and throat. “I ca—I can't take any more, y-you have to—to...”

And Volker resumed at a speed that was almost but not quite rapid enough, and Vince braced himself against Volker's chest and gripped his thighs, gulping in as much air as his lungs could hold, desperately trying to retain some modicum of control over himself--

For a moment, the world went away; it returned when Vince managed to crack open one eye.

“You still awake?”

“Sorta,” he muttered.

“We should have a few cleaning rags; I'll be right back.”

Vince pushed himself away from Volker, limbs trembling violently, and lowered his bare back onto the cool metal floor. Not that he didn't appreciate Volker's warmth—this one time, at least—but he was drenched in sweat. Wasn't going to put his shirt and jacket back on any time soon, either.

He took the rag that dropped onto his chest and wiped off his thighs—straight into the lava with that, once he had the energy to go find a pool. He barely had the energy to ask Volker how he managed to stay calm with a one-forty-pound security officer fidgeting in his lap.

The silence rang in his ears; Vince shut his eyes again and laid there with Volker sitting by his side. Perhaps he'd put off sleep long enough; he was going to wake up in the afternoon, he just knew it…

“If we both make it out of here,” Volker said quietly, “would you want to see me again?”

Vince laughed hollowly. “Are you askin' me to reconsider what I said earlier?”

He almost had, to be honest. If for no other reason than that even this tenuous attachment was still the strongest he had to anyone else in this ancient bunker.

“No, I mean—would the sight of me piss you off as much as it did before?”

It didn't take as long to find the answer as Vince thought it would. “I wouldn't say so, dude. S'long as you kept up the effort not to be an asshole.”

“I see.” To as much surprise as Vince could be bothered with, Volker laid down next to him, facing away. “Don't feel like walking to the barracks. You?”

“Not particularly.”

After a moment's internal debate, Vince carefully maneuvered himself onto his side and shifted over until his shoulder blades were tapping against Volker's. He'd be lying if he told himself that he wasn't okay with this turn of events; at least it'd be a bit easier to finish putting that part of his past behind him.

When the sun rose, he would resume worrying about how well the recalling of the eleventh clan would go, and about his own uncertain future. Now was not the time for any of that.

**Author's Note:**

> It occurs to me that this is my first completed (barely-)explicit fic.
> 
> This almost certainly happened in the Inmortalitas timeline; I would need to write more M2-related things to put around it in the series proper, though...


End file.
